


What He Needs

by siriuslyhiddenlawyer



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, F/M, High Sherlock, Molly Hooper - Freeform, Molly Hooper is all Sherlock needs, Molly and Her Sherlock, Romance, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Sherlock and Molly, Sherlock is using drugs, Sherlolly - Freeform, Slice of Life, molly hooper to the rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 21:32:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12779931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslyhiddenlawyer/pseuds/siriuslyhiddenlawyer
Summary: Molly Hooper is all Sherlock ever needed.





	What He Needs

            She stood in the doorway, heart in her throat as she watched him, “put it down,” she said, surprised by the clarity of her voice, slightly impressed that it wasn’t quivering the way her insides were.

            He looked up at her with those eyes, shocked that she stood there. His face was gaunt, covered in stubble, looking haunted and destroyed by the very thing that made him who he was. “Molly,” his voice was garbled as if he hadn’t used it in a while.

            Walking into the flat, she let her bag drop of her shoulder with a thud, kneeling in front of him on the floor, “You don’t need it,” she whispered, looking down at the syringe he held, poised against a thick vein in his forearm.

            “How would you know what I need,” he asked, his words dripping with venom, with utter hatred but she wondered if it was directed at her, or himself.

            “Sherlock,” her breath hitched somewhere between her lungs and her throat, lodged there on a sob that she tried to suppress. She’d never seen him like this, never imagined that she would. Molly had always been lucky in that she witnessed only the after effects of his drug use, not while he was actually poisoning himself. There was something terrifying, something all too real as she saw the paraphernalia that surrounded him on the grubby carpet.

            That brilliant mind that tortured him, the past that pushed him beyond his limits all in the tip of that needle. She was disgusted with all of it, the white powdery stuff in the clear little packet, the spoon, the small square of foil…She wanted to run from it all, imagined herself getting up and walking away, far away without a backwards glance. Far from the constant heartache, the constant torment, the constant fear that she would one day wake up to a world without this man that she adored, because he had overdosed, had bowed down to the demons that demanded his attention.

            To hell with all that.

            _He needed her._

She had come to Sherlock’s aid whenever he needed her, had gone out of her way to ensure that he was fit and happy whenever she could. To hell with her own feelings, to hell with her heartaches, the bile that rose in her stomach at the sight of him so desolate. He was the love of her life, the love her soul, and she would let him burn her alive if heeded to. She would find the strength to see him through this, she would find the strength for both of them.

She always did.

            “Sherlock,” she moaned, reaching up this time to cup his cheek, brushing a stray curl behind his ear, “I’m here,” she whispered, rising up on her knees and moving closer to him, “whatever’s going on in that funny little head of yours, tell me. Please,” she let the tears fall, saw how his eyes rounded with shock as her tears streak down her cheeks, unchecked and uninhibited. She let him see her heartache, let him see the endless love and strength that she usually kept hidden from him, “let me help you through this.”

            Those incredible eyes fluttered shut as he rubbed his cheek into her palm like a cat, his mouth falling open as his expression turned to one of torment, but the needle remained poised against his alabaster skin. “You can’t,” he murmured, “no one can.”

            “Try me,” she whispered, tracing his lower lip with the pad of her thumb, her other hand gripping the wrist that held the needle filled with poison. She wondered how much he’d already taken, judging by his eyes, this wasn’t the first hit. “You’re not alone,” she told him, shifting his palm carefully into her lap, her fingers grabbing the needle and carefully depositing it to the side, “you’re not alone,” she repeated, grateful that he didn’t fight her, his entire body relaxing as if a great burden had been lifted from her. When she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling his head down to nestle against her neck, he let out a deep breath and hauled her into his lap, holding her so tightly that she could hardly breath.

            “I need you,” he whispered raggedly, “I need you, Molly Hooper.”

            “You have me,” she assured him, kissing the side of his neck, “you’ll always have me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't know where this came from-- I was watching the Abominable Bride, the scene where he's on the floor and takes the needle out and my stomach hurt. So this happened as a result.


End file.
